Ez'ial comes in and heads for his usual glass of wine. He turns in time to see Lydiere and gives a wave towards Lydiere, "morning" He says somewhat groggily. He makes his way over to where she sits and smiles, "how goes this morning?"

Lydiere's nose wrinkles - she lifts one hand to greet Ez'ial, then returns to shuffling through the box in front of her, which seems to be filled up with various nicknacks and baubles. "What about this one? A little wooden dragon, painted garishly gold. Fardles. I'm all right."

"Yeah," agrees Lydiere, shaking her head. "Don't get them. Not at /all/." She shoves the box away from here, and it rattles; she peers in, and grimaces, "There's another little porcelain thing broken. Gads."

Ez'ial chuckles looking into the box, "what are you going to do with them…" He grins, "DON'T let Petryth see them… he'll go all gah gah on them and the last thing I need is a weyr full of little gold dragons"

Lydiere, prodding at the box with her finger, wrinkles her nose. "That's fair enough. No more baubles for Petryth, even if he might like them a huge amount more than I ever will." Frowning, she tilts her head to the side. "That's odd. Llys is still asleep."

Ez'ial hrms and shakes his head, "Petryth was acting strange earlier too, up really early and more engetic than normal.. if you can imagine that"

"Fardles," says Lydiere, under her breath, then shakes her head. "She can't - but… Fardles." She gets out of her seat, then makes a run for the door. "I have to check."

You exit the caverns, heading out into the bowl.

Ez'ial strides into the bowl from the Living Caverns.

Petryth spreads his mighty wings and leaps into the air, surging upwards.

Virochanth spreads his mighty wings and leaps into the air, surging upwards.

Nheanth spreads his mighty wings and leaps into the air, surging upwards.

Lydiere comes to a halt, grimacing. "I guess that," she murmurs, eyes on the dragons making their way to the feeding grounds, "would be my answer." She swallows, looking warily at the collection - rapidly increasing in number - of bronzes and browns, and then turns her head away, wrapping her arms about herself.

Ez'ial looks over at the grounds watching his bronze come down on a herdbeast and looks back at Llysereth surprised, "and no headaches… this was fast" He looks back to Lydiere concerned that her usual headache will hit full force.

O'ran dismounts Virochanth and glances around in interest. "Ista Weyr, " he murmurs to the brown. "And where did Orimyna say that we could find - - - Viro?" The brown suddenly leaps into the air and soars over into the feeding grounds. "Oh no, " Orim groans. "Not /another/ sharding flight! Virochanth!" Seeing Lydiere, he sighs, noting that this is apparently the gold's rider.

Llysereth> Nheanth flies in on a short, miniballistic glide from the bowl, where he dropped off his rider, and bashes a herdbeast into a corner, where he quickly breaks it's neck and starts sucking the blood out of it's neck arteries.

Llysereth> Virochanth arrives in a strong, passionate flurry of wings. No sooner does he hover over the feeding grounds than he shoots down onto a young herdbeast without mercy. Snatching it by the neck, a loud *CRACK* splits the air as the brown breaks its neck, sparing it nothing. Throwing it down, he begins to blood greedily, absorbing the warm, fluid blood.

G'wain raises his eyebrows, his mind echoing Ez'ial's words. No headaches, indeed. And from past experience, he realises she's not 'on schedule' too. "I'd planned /not/ to be here…" He mutters, though it's not audible to any bar those closest.

Lydiere'd simply not planned. Her lifemate still asleep, she's apparently still in control of herself, and though her expression is not pleased - particularly at the arrival of G'wain, she lifts her head again, shoulders back, posture straight. "Llys…" she murmurs beneath her breath, pasting a smile to her lips - though she pushes away a bronzerider who has leered too close.

O'ran looks like he'd rather be /anywhere/ than here at the moment - - even running around the Weyr getting chased by Virochanth would be - - okay, maybe he'd rather be here than get chased by his dragon. "I don't believe you, you flight-crazy fiery…." he mutters to his dragon aloud. "I can't just keep /doing/ this all the time! I'm /Sheyna/'s…"

Llysereth> Ahreluth glides over the feeding grounds, his eye pausing on herdbeasts until he finds the one that he requires. Not one for waste, he does not pick the fattest animal, but the one he does choose is somewhere close to that. Talons squeeze the lift out of the beast slowly, rather than with any type of jerking motion, Ahreluth for once revelling in the kill. Lowering his muzzle to the neck of the herdbeast, he drinks of its essence with vigour.

Ez'ial glances at G'wain and the others gathered round and gives his own quiet curse. He hadn't exactly planned to be available for /this/ flight. He looks around at the riders present not surprised there are so many this time.

Llysereth> Llysereth awakens. She's only just come into the golden glow she deserves; it's come along fast, unknown even to her, but this makes her no less intense - and no less intent upon her prey. Hurtling downwards to the feeding grounds, she lunges for the first beast she can engage upon, tearing it to pieces in immediate defiance: Meat! Not blood, but meat! A snarl escapes from within, as this temptation is refused, and she satisfies herself, for the moment, upon the lush, sticky blood that leaks from within her stone-dead prey.

Llysereth> No sooner does Petryth finish draining one beast than his head flings up with a bugling challenge to the other males gathered. He wastes no time then and takes wing circling once before he shoots down claiming another herdbeast with the sharp crack of it's neck. His maw taking in the neck of the creatures to eagerly drain it's life's blood. A deep rumbling challenge muffled as he does so. As the glowing queen arrives his bloody muzzle snaps up and he croons deeply to her even though he knows he's not likely to get a favorable response from her.

Llysereth> Virochanth gives an admiring croon at the business like way of Llysereth's awakening. Now /that/ is a lady to reckon with. Giving a loud, brash bugle of defiance to the other males, he snags the next nearest beast, slashing open a laceration in the right side, but before he bloods, he brings down a large ovine in midair and gently tosses it in Llysereth's direction with a polite rumble. Ladies first. It is then, and only then, that he bloods away at his second kill.

Llysereth> Nheanth continues blooding his herdbeast until dry sucking sounds are heard. Only then does he give up and search for another one. Spotting a small one, he pounces, kills it, and sucks most of the blood out of it. Satiated, he turns to watch the gold, crooning deeply.

Llysereth> Ahreluth keeps one eye on the gold, but for him to have any chance in the upcoming flight, he must blood more more of the four-footed food things. Muzzle streaked with rusty red that blends somewhat with his own colouring, Ahreluth turns to seek out another. As the gold is here he's much quicker, finding a beast due to location, not looks or size. The nearest is snagged, since the animals seem to be running this way and that eyes wide, and Ahreluth removes only the blood once more, steady vigil on Llysereth unwavering.

Llysereth> Llysereth pays no heed to the bronzes and browns: hers is a task far more interesting, and /they/ are merely in the way. She drops her finished beast, and dives for another, neither showing off nor deliberately limiting her moves to downplay them. Bitter sanguine stains her golden head, which she twists in the light, dripping down her neck, which arches, almost sensually, before she drops this second carcass, and, without so much as a moment's warning, reaches up into the sky. She must have freedom!

Llysereth> You spread your mighty wings and leap into the air, surging upwards.

Llysereth> Petryth surges up from below, wings beating.

Llysereth> Virochanth surges up from below, wings beating.

Llysereth> Ahreluth surges up from below, wings beating.

Llysereth> Nheanth surges up from below, wings beating.

Llysereth> Llysereth's soaring form gains speed and altitude quickly; like the rising sun, she leaps high above the world beneath, a golden form soon above the lapping waters of the ocean, for that is where she reaches for, flying steadily higher. She's no time for tricks and taunts - if the male dragons are still there, she's paying them no heed, ignoring their presence to the point of making them disappear, at least within her own mind. Wings use the winds and thermals with an adept ability, as she hurtles onwards.

Llysereth> Petryth gives a soothing call to Llysereth, but at the speed that she's rising, the sound is mostly whipped back towards him as he rises after. Strong youthful surges of his wings as he does his best to draw nearer the rising sun which is Llysereth. She is his goal and only thought. Unlike other flights, he is intent and almost doesn't notice the challengers brown and bronze to be found close behind or on level with him. The sound of wings amplifying his own flight upwards after the glowing prize above them.

Llysereth> Nheanth has a bit more speed than some of the bronzes around him, and is ahead a bit, but is starting to tire. If Llysereth keeps this up, he's going to have to drop out. Until then, all he can, and will do, is keep flying and try to gain an advantage over the rest of them.

Llysereth> There's no ahprodisiac like loneliness, and Ahreluth's been mighty lonely lately. The deep magenta that swirls in his eyes as he begins the flight is a testament to this, if not his initial speed. Slow and steady wins the race. Well, perhaps not this race, and at G'wain's urgings, this bronze puts on more speed, the rider and dragon fast merging into one being, if not in body. A bugle sounds from somewhere to his right, and he drifts over there, of a mind to take out the dragon. This is not just a flight for fun.

Llysereth> Llysereth could well be the famous 'picture of you', though she's the real thing: soaring, higher and higher, finally managing to taunt those who chase with her cry. They'll never catch her - she'll never tell! When you get caught between the early morning sun and Ista Ocean, it may be crazy, but freedom is all that you want: she cuts a sharp turn, soaring northwards to avoid capture, perhaps to avoid temptation, wings outstretching to the winds that buffer her.

Llysereth> Petryth hears Llysereth's taunting cry and sees her shift, he makes his own instantly. Hoping to move at an angle hoping to cut more distance between himself and the queen who, for him at this moment, glows more brightly than the sun. It is to this lovely creature that he cries, no thought of others and indeed he almost cuts off another persuing male when he shifts his path so quickly. His eyes rest on the regal creature before him only, he knows she is no small challenge to capture and he wills himself forward, in his mind, to protect her from those others who would not truly understand and protect her delicate beauty.

Llysereth> Nheanth just concentrates on the gold, not paying too much attention to the other dragons around him, as a result, he has a couple close calls, narrowly missing each time.

Llysereth> Ahreluth is too caught between the ocean and the sun, but he pays little attention to it, a very short and sharp snap to his right breaks the rhythm of one of the other bronzes, sending it back in short order. This is a side of Ahreluth not before seen… spurred on by G'wain, most likely. More dangerous he grows by the second, still in pursuit of the glittering one.

Llysereth> Llysereth can no longer be oblivious of what goes on behind her; that there is man - dragon? - handling does not go unnoticed, and though caught within her own emotions, this cannot be right to what is left of her reason. A fleeting cry, and Llysereth turns back against her motions once more, rushing against those who chase: if she can distract them all, perhaps all will be - but her own emotions take back their rollercoaster ride, and she hurtles on, hissing at those who get too close, and yet not too close to touch.

Llysereth> Petryth gives a bright call to the glowing queen as she suddenly turns back. Wings snap open and he rises up sharply then with an agile twist turns and follows. Another call, promising the sun moon and stars to the one who outshines them all. Promises of protection and loyalty all but whipped back by the wind. The flight fast and though he can feel his effort now, he will not give in to physical fatigue. Nothing will keep him from the jewel sparkling in the sky before him. Even if it causes him to twist and turn avoided no less than three other pursuers and dangerously missing another pair of bronze wings in his pursuit. He will /not/ stop. He /will/ have her!

Llysereth> Nheanth wants the gold, but not that badly. Folding his wings to his back, he drops down until he's out of the way, then resumes winging, looking back over his shoulder to see what's going on.

Llysereth> Youngsters these days can do the most amazing things. All these agile turns… Ahreluth doesn't seem to manage the turn as well as he thought that he would, and it leaves him a little more towards the back of the pack, beside Nheanth. A /brown/? Ahreluth sees the inferior competition… and sees that he's /with/ the inferior competition. There's a dangerous gleam in his eye, as he still strives towards Llysereth.

Llysereth> Llysereth's tactic may have benefits in some ways, but it's also risky - far too risky for this time in a flight, when she's tiring, when those about her are. She dives again, ducking between several dragons as best she can, though she's larger than them, if not by much. She falters, slipping backwards, and in her instant of distress, loses ground - and leaves herself open to capture. Will they, won't they, will they end this dance?

Llysereth> Petryth is ready for the next dive and doesn't hesitate, hoping that Llysereth's larger form will clear any path to collision. He dives with a deep rumbling croon in his throat. Reaching out with neck, talons and tail to try and capture the beautiful queen. Straining, he sees her faulter and puts all that he can into the effort to reach her, so many others near. The urgency making his heart pound as he seeks to reach her before another does. No guarantees in this closely flying pack, but there is a chance.. there is hope and she glows brightly before him.

Llysereth> Ahreluth sees Nheanth still there, the gold and the brown keeping his attention divided for a moment. Llysereth's turn is noted, and Ahreluth tries to put the competition out with a turn of his head and a decidedly vicious snap to the brown's wing. Whether he nips the brown or he misses, Ahreluth then puts his all into catching the golden queen, the brown forgotten as she tires. His chance now, he gives his all to his attempt to make her his own once again.

Llysereth> Nheanth hisses and roars. Enraged, he rotates a full 90 degrees and slams right into Ahreluth, his forepaws clenched and swinging away, his hind paws ripping into the bronze as he tries to get leverage, his fangs raking the other dragon's hide somewhat.

Z'alan twitches and fidgets some, caught up in the newly-born fight up in the air.

Llysereth> Llysereth roars in upset, somehow rational again, at the resulting fight between Nheanth and Ahreluth; she rushes forward, as if to end up, but never quite makes it: Petryth is there, and though his neck and tail and talons catch her quite unawares, a single cry of upset turns, almost immediately, into a resounding trumpet of delight and desire. Hers. His. Theirs.

Llysereth> Petryth snaps his wings out as soon as he feels Llysereth in his grasp bearing both their weight up and away from the dangerous mid-air fight. He croons softly to her worried that they may have gotten too close and then shifts again to take them further away from the violence that has erupted. His thoughts only of her and his joy with her.

Llysereth> Ahreluth's scream is piercing, and he gives up on his catch attempt… And rightly so. He's injured. He didn't expect that, not at all. Though if you give it, you have to be prepared to receive it. There's a gash on his side, and scratching all over him from the other dragon. And due to the way they're positioned, the only thing he can do to get his own back is use his head and tail to bash against the brown. Damn these small dragons… and damn Petryth, stealing his 'prize'. Still fighting to break free, Ahreluth starts to sink towards the ground, his eyes widened and no longer purple.

G'wain gasps, and his throat gargles as he tries to scream out with his dragon. Once the shock of the initial wound has passed, he looks to the rider of the dragon that did this, that same dangerous glint to his eyes. One moment he's still, the next he's running at Z'alan, bent for vengance.

Llysereth> Nheanth sees the ground rapidly approaching, and ekes in a few more closed-fist smacks. Good thing they're close to water. He shoves the other dragon away, in the general direction of the sea, and himself unfolds his wings for a few seconds to angle further out before folding them back again in preparation for diving in.

Z'alan is still caught up in the midair fight, and is unawares as G'wain rapidly approaches him.

Llysereth> At least Ahreluth has the presence of mind to between out of harms way. His wings are still working, even if there is pain. Probably a bad idea to between, but G'wain's not exactly rational enough to tell Ahreluth this, the dragon ending up back in to the Ista bowl.

Llysereth> Nheanth didn't think of that. But too late now. Oh well, maybe if he makes himself sleek enough. *something sounding like a smack and a splash combined* Whoops, maybe not… Oh, hi there Mr. Pain.. Nice to see you..

G'wain is torn between helping his dragon and pummelling Z'alan. The latter wins, for what the dragon did to his, he will do to the rider. Attack! A flurry of arms and legs ensues, G'wain ducking and weaving and landing hard blows where he can manage them.

Z'alan is surprised, and only manages a couple pokes in the ribs and a weak slap against the face of his assailant, attacking him with such ferocity.